David was a tween boy like any other. He was all awkward limbs, inconvenient boners, and wispy facial hair behind a crackling voice. David has a guinea pig named Squeak Squeak that lives in a cage on top of his dresser. David cares for Squeak Squeak better than he cares for himself. The cage was always clean with plenty of food and water.
Squeak Squeak had been David’s pet since he could remember. He wasn’t sure how old Squeak Squeak was, but she had long, gray whiskers, and didn’t run as fast in her exercise wheel anymore.
Not many people know this, and those that learn don’t have an opportunity to share the news, but the Angel of Death is a guinea pig. Squeak Squeak is the Angel of Death. The Angel of Death lives in David’s room.
Because of Squeak Squeak, David was aging slowly. “A late bloomer,” his mother would say. Because of Squeak Squeak, David’s mother was dying of cancer. She was stage IV, gaunt, vacant, and hairless behind a human shell. Soon she would wake up on the astral plane, with Squeak Squeak sitting on her chest, unanswerable to her pleas.
The last thing you see in your physical body is the unblinking eye of Squeak Squeak. There is no judgment, there are no golden gates, there is no everlasting life. There is only infinity. Squeak Squeak simply takes you there when it is your time to go.
Drinkers with Writing Problems 